Candlelight Chapters 1-2

Candlelight

Chapter 1
Lifeblood

A bitter moon shed silver light upon the land, its harsh lustrous rays stripping across the barren terrain. Off in the distance the clouds growled in debate, and slowly they grew angry with one another, exchanging spears of light across the sky. Finally they shed their lifeblood in a battle within the sky, giving life to things on the ground while above they slowly died. And slowly their clear blood seeped in to the ground, beneath roots without trunks and leaves, disappearing with nary an audible sound. Until finally they met an awning safe from the moons harsh glow… drip… drip… drip. Slowly in steady rhythm the droplets fell from stalactites, clinging securely to the ceiling. The water gathered in shallow pools on the ground of the small cave. Within their black chamber, within their ebon liquid depths, came a soft blue glow. From a long winding corridor came the sound of leather encased feet, the clatter of hooves, the soft hush of a summers wind, and an almost inaudible rustle of feathers. Suddenly the cavern was full of light, blue spheres of glowing energy sped ahead of the group walking toward the cavern. Like sentinels or scouts they diligently took of a vigil around the cave, pulsating quietly, emitting an eerie teal glow. First to enter the cave, swathed in blue light, was a man garbed in brown. A heavy cloak fell from his shoulders to drag along the ground, tattered and battle-worn, fraying silver embroidery stitched along the edges. He wore a short hauberk of chainmail with the edges of a doeskin shirt peeking out from underneath the armor below the waist. A leather strip was belted on his waist, a thick, long sword resting peaceably in its sheath by his side. Gloved hands rested lightly on the pommel and hilt and as the male human stepped aside to let his patrol through they dropped to his side by brown pants. His face was as worn as his cloak, with a scar or two to decorate his features. A short beard ran along his jaw-line and around his mouth. Finally, hidden behind a wisdom not often seen in eyes that displayed such youth, vibrant blue optics gazed over the small underworld.

Next to enter the cave was a creature not of flesh or bone, its skin was of luminescent blue-green glow with no features to define it male or female. Eyes the color of metal heated white decorated its sockets while pauldrons of finely crafted metal adorned its broad shoulders. The plates were decorated with intricate edges painted silver, forest green for the rest, with an overall sheen that glimmered with the ever shifting nether substance that was the creature’s skin. This creature stood a fair foot above the man, who was easily six feet tall, a cloak of deep green fell from a broach of darkest emerald, no fancy embroidery along the edges, just rips and tears that flaunted themselves as a soft wind danced around the strips. Pulled up over its head was the hood of the cloak, which appeared as pristine as it had the day it had been made. And the rest of it was bare, feet, hands, and torso went without decoration. The creature nodded silently to the man and then strode across the room within the cavern. The orbs of light quivered slightly as it passed, as if eager to rush and greet him.

Two joined the cavern next, one beside the other. The clatter of hooves brought a creature that even outstood the strange thing that had just waltzed elegantly across the room. A Centaur had to duck under the low awning to make it in to the tall cavernous space where they all were gathering. The Centaur was female with a dark bay dun appaloosa with a splash of white on her quarters accompanied with splatters of black. Her long tail was braided with ebon ribbons; silky black hair cascaded from her head to mix with her mane down her spine. Brown eyes swept across the room, dark and hawk-like with a fierce gleam. Dark leather armor adorned the Centaurs torso with bracers on her forearms and bare calloused hands. Beneath her armor was a dark silken shirt the sleeves flaring out from the prison of the leather bracers. A sturdy leather harness held two swords on either side. The bare blades were held in place by two leather loops on the harness. The person to enter beside the Centaur was also female, shorter perhaps five feet tall. White hair wreathed her head in a scraggly cascade of silver. While the Centaur and man still held on to their youth, the woman beside the Centaur and the creature of energy had an aura that hinted at eternity around them. While her hair and diminutive form revealed her age her face bore no mars of time. The sharp angles were only somewhat dulled, and still bright green eyes peered out at the world with a calm and confident stare. A light robe of gray was draped over her form. A gnarled staff encrusted with crystals was held steadily with both hands, glimmering in the unreal blue glow beneath the earth. Pointed ears parted the mess of tangled silver-white hair that fell to the elderly Elf’s shoulders and the nape of her neck. While the robe she bore displayed no wealth, the thick folds of cloth were warm and protective. The two walked side by side in to the cavern, both looking around it with expressions of approval and determination.

Finally the last of the strange patrol entered the room, almost invisible against the darkness and damp rock. The flutter of wings was the only defining sound that even suggested at the creature’s existence; however, it was so small that the eye had trouble tracking it in the dark. Finally though the swoop of wings was brought to a stalagmite upon the floor near one of the pulsating orbs of light and the small creature was revealed. No more than four feet tall sat a Gryphon, perched elegantly upon the spike of rock. His fore-talons gripped the stone expertly; scaly front legs looked almost fragile against the harsh formation. The bronze, brown, and black feathers of a golden eagle adorned the torso of the creature, feathered ears flickering back and forth around the room. The Gryphon held its wings half outstretched in a four foot span for balance, piercing golden eyes sweeping the room in grim expectance. The dusty beige-brown fur of a cougar adorned the Gryphon’s hindquarters with a long tail flickering from side to side revealing a hidden anticipation. The Human cleared his throat and stepped forward, taking a place beside one of the orbs and glancing around at the other four. Weary eyes suddenly became hardened with the sheer willpower no other race seemed able to muster, “For the Brotherhood,” he rumbled, and then turned to stare at the creature of energy on the far end of the cave. The slim outline of its head tipped upward somewhat, and lips that had otherwise been invisible parted to allow similar words to escape his mouth,
“For the Eternal.” Five syllables that seemed supercharged with all of the electricity of lightning in a storm, an inhuman echo and shocking hiss laced each sound as it coursed through the air.
“For the Angeli,” came the Gryphon’s determined words,
“For the Warden,” the Centaur growled, clenching a fist. The elderly Elf nodded,
“For life and for death, for peace to end the war…” there was a short pause as each of these very different peoples looked at one another. Twice before a similar gathering had been called but never with such a variety, and so long ago that even the most ancient texts scarcely know what had drawn such a strange group together. All eyes turned to the Elf, she knew though. She knew of the pact made in times of grief, periods of horror so great that all found nowhere else to turn. Creatures with every difference imaginable were drawn together by a common desperation to create something that could just as easily destroy them as bring their salvation. “Let us begin… The enemy of thy enemy is thy friend. Though a different blood sears through the veins of all, tonight we will all be the same. Tonight we dare to call upon each of our gods, our ancestors, or protectors and beg of them to work in union for the salvation of their people. Tonight we declare that we have not finished with the world and will not bow down to the evil that corrupts it. Already we all have held our own as best we could against the brutal waves of the Elvin tyranny. But slowly the ocean is weathering the great stones of our civilizations to sand and is being tossed by the currents as the ocean sees fit…” the words were chanted by the Elf and slowly died off for the Centaur to continue, “We will not bow down. And so we gather to create a life to save us from the ocean. The blood of Centaur will battle until the end,” the words were spoken as if rehearsed many times. Without hesitation the Centaur slit her right wrist against her bare blade and held a clenched fist before her, fierce brown eyes fixed on the crimson dripping from her veins. “The blood of Human swears its allegiance until the end,” announced the man, who drew his blade just enough to cut his wrist as well and hold his fist out before him. He too has his eyes fixed on the small drips of blood that began to fall on the cold stone floor. “The essence of Hoss pledges its alliance,” the crackle of lightning sounded through the cold air. A small flash lit the cave for a moment and then the creature stretched out its right arm with a closed fist. A liquid similar to water was dripping from the limb, white hot optics watched the fluid fall to the ground. “The Gryphon promises its wings whenever they are needed,” were the final words spoken by anyone other than the Elf. The Gryphon tore at his scaled front leg with his sharp beak without hesitation, ebon blood dripped from the open wound as it was held outstretched over the stone floor. “I pledge my magic and life to this creation,” the elderly Elf murmured softly, stepping forward. She stood approximately in the center of the rough ring made by the four others in the room. Softly at first she began to chant, her words barely heard above the constant drip… drip… drip… of lifeblood. Slowly the strange words gained audacity and volume, and nobody in the room but the speaker understood their meaning. Nobody dared move while the elder spoke her magic, lest they disturb the frightening incantation. For hours they would stand, each second stretched in to an eternity.

In the world above the moon slowly drooped in the sky as the hours passed, stars faded in the cloudless dawn; losing the luster they held in the deepness of the night sky. The rains of the night had passed and now not a wisp of moisture was left in the air. A barren world stretched on for as far as the eye could see, devoid of any life. There were no trees, no birds or animals. The land was lacking even in grass, the plant that always seemed to persevere through harsh times. The sun brought a horizon of red, gold, and yellow. The three colors were splashed on the sky like paint dragged across a canvas. Far off upon the horizon a black dot stood triumphantly. A great spear that was plunged through the earth and in to the crimson of the sunrise held a banner for all to see. The rain had washed the dirt and grit away from bleached skulls and shattered bones. The water had pelted down on abandoned weapons, armor, and scraps of clothing. It filled great gouges in the earth created by a force no normal hand could muster just for a moment before the water spilled in to the earth. The spear was held half by skeleton and half by dirt, holding a banner of red and gold high in the air. The skeleton encased in rotting armor had fallen against the stake, as if feebly trying to deny the crushing defeat. The cleanness of the sun bleached bones said that this battle had occurred long ago, but still the banner stood. And still the wars raged.

Deep within the earth the cavern had dimmed. The slow drip of water and blood had subsided in small pools. Of the five that originally entered the cavern, only four remained. The Human had crumpled, as if a giant boot had simply stomped him down, he lay unconscious on the floor. The Centaur too had fallen, hooves splayed out as if a rope had come from the side and simply swept her off balance, her eyes too were closed. The strange creature of energy was sitting upright, but leaning against the stalagmite upon which the Gryphon remained perched. Of the several orbs that had lit the cave, only three remained, small and quivering in the air. The Gryphon himself seemed the only one unscathed, bearing his head proudly aloft, wings tucked gently to his sides. Keen golden eyes watched over the other three as they rested, but where lay the Elf? Not a scrap of gray cloth remained of her, she had after all promised her life to the creation. But of what exactly? The Gryphon let his eyes stray once more to where the elfin woman had once stood, toward the creature that lay silently upon the floor, approximately in the center of the rough ring that had once existed.
“She’s beautiful… isn’t she?” the creature of energy asked, his usually static voice lackluster. Even as the words left him one of the hovering orbs dwindled and then zipped toward him. The orb collided with his spirit-like flesh and melted in to it without so much as a ripple.
“Indeed… I’m not surprised she has a humanoid form, what with most of you with the same shape. I had still hoped that she would be a Gryphon, but I am… happy with her,” the Gryphon said, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at the child that lay on the ground. She was curled in to a ball, bare, and although she hadn’t existed yesterday she already seemed to be roughly eight years old. Brown hair cascaded from her head and on to her shoulders, seeming slightly damp and clumped together. Here and there a bronze feather seemed to be braided within her locks, and in a rough arrow shape more downy feathers clothed her shoulders and back.
“She bears more semblance to your kind than you give credit for. Seems those feathers look a lot like yours, golden eagle,” the creature said quietly.
“Ah, but look to her gaze. Even beneath closed lids I can see the white blaze that you Hoss have in place for eyes. They will be intimidating in battle, Armengd.” The Hoss chuckled softly, a sound that could be closely related to rolling thunder.
“I think so. Rowan will be proud to see that she so closely resembles a human. But I think she looks least like the Centaur… that’s sure to spark some kind of anger within their midst.” The Gryphon raised a brow,
“Beneath the hair over her face are the sharp angles all Centaur have. And I can see the slant to her eyes; she shares that at least with Arla.” There was a short silence as the man stirred with a soft moan. “Her ears are pointed… for the old one,” the Gryphon said quietly. The Hoss nodded,
“Good… she will live on in the child then. That Elf deserves to be remembered, I never thought a creature of magic could be anything more than…” Armengd trailed off, another orb in the air whizzed toward the Hoss and meshed with him.
“More than what the other Elves are,” the Gryphon finished. “Are you alright Rowan?” The feathered beast inquired, turning his golden eyes toward the human as he let out a racking cough.
“I envy your kind and your resistance to magic Kane,” the human wheezed, “But I will be fine in a few moments. How is Arla?” The Gryphon flicked his ears toward the Centaur and then rotated his head to gaze over her.
“Still out cold… you might want to see to her, I don’t think she’d take kindly to the idea that she awoke last. She doesn’t take well to losing, even at something as petty as this.” A disgruntled laugh escaped Rowan as he rolled to his hands and knees and panted for a few moments.
“You alright Armengd? I see there’s only one orb left in the air…” Rowan murmured, leaning back to sit on his ankles while he rubbed his temples. A gust of wind riffled through the cave, a sigh from the Hoss,
“I’m just a little worn out, nothing a good rest won’t fix… I just need to get out of these caves. The air is stale and still, I need a breeze,” Armengd shifted against the stone he was leaned against.
“And I am sick of the lifeless air in here as well, tend to the girl Rowan, I will wake Arla,” the Gryphon said quietly, lofting over to where the Centaur lay. “Arla,” he whispered, leaning close to the Centaur, “Time to wake up.” He nudged her arm softly with his beak and then backed up a few steps to wait. With an impatient sigh the beast pushed himself on to his hind legs and used his wings to gust wind at her. “Ar-r-la,” he sang, “Open your eyes and heave to. We’re getting outta this place.” While the Gryphon gave his feeble attempts to wake a creature easily three times his size Rowan moved toward the silent girl on clumsy feet. He unfastened the cloak around his neck as he approached, falling to his knees beside the girl. Gently, carefully, as if she might fall to dust if he were too rough, Rowan draped the thick warm cloak around her slender form. As soon as the cloth settled on her shoulders glowing eyes flew open and her head jerked toward Rowan. Her gaze bored in to him like an arrow shaft, accusing and uncertain.
“It’s alright,” Rowan said softly, mentally recoiling from her vibrant optics, “We aren’t going to harm you.” Whether the child understood the words or not she seemed calmed by them and slowly her eyes closed once more.
“Kane! Gerrof me!” came Arla’s sudden cry as she waved her arms at the Gryphon to ward him away.
“About time! You sleep like a rock, we’re leaving…” Kane said, hopping about her with his wings tucked on either side of him. The spry little Gryphon turned his head to Armengd, “Do I need to help you up as well? I can always haul you up by your cloak if you need it.” While the little beast lacked the facial features and the muscles that would allow him to smile, the grin could be seen in a gleam in his eyes. The Hoss shook his head,
“The gesture is appreciated little one, but I think I can stand on my own… Rowan? How is she?” Armengd asked, turning his attention toward the Human.
“Well,” was his simple reply as he staggered to his feet. The child was wrapped in his cloak and now in his arms. “Well and beautiful…” Arla had shifted her weight and slowly heaved herself to her hooves. With a tentativeness not of her character she inched forward to gaze at the small bundle. A smile blossomed on her features,
“I see your arms trembling Rowan… I think none of us has the strength to hold her for too long. Place her on my back Rowan, Kane perch there as well and make sure she doesn’t fall.” Without question the human edged over to Arla and placed the child on her back, holding her steady with a hand until Kane fluttered over. The Gryphon landed nimbly and clung to the leather harness with one scaled leg and placed the other over the cloth bundle. Placing his hind paws on the leather as well gave him a sense of stability and he leaned his head on the cloth package as well,
“Ready when you are Arla,” he said, fanning his wings out for more balance as she turned. Armengd had managed to get to his feet and had walked slowly over to the group. Together the four began to make their way down the winding corridors of the caves once more, their pace considerably slower compared to the previous night.
“Do you think the Council will have decided where she will go first?” Rowan asked quietly as they walked down the hall, Armengd’s single remaining orb floating a foot ahead to light their path.
“I do hope so… these times are too death-ridden for our peoples to quarrel among each other any longer. For the meantime I think she should go with you, Rowan. She looks the most like a Human. Perhaps she will feel more at home with you.”
“I agree. It would be difficult to raise her alongside foals, we have little experience with your children. However, she must visit each or our kind often, one may not horde her from the others.” While the three chattered softly about the girls place to grow, Kane remained silent as he gazed at a stray feather in her hair. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he delicately leaned forward and used his beak to brush the hair aside. The feather seemed to be growing loosely from her scalp… quite a strange girl they had made. No matter where they put her she would never truly belong. There had been talk of a city to be constructed where each of the four non-magical races could live with one another; however, such an idea was ludicrous. The battles that were waged against the Elves were tremendous; resources were scarce. Civilizations that had withstood for thousands of years were reduced to rubble in a matter of days by the destructive force that the Elves could muster with apparent ease. Which lead him to a question that many had posed at every turn, if they created this creature would it also bear the magical talents of an Elf? How ironic would it be if the downfall of the Elves would be a weapon who wielded the very same weapon that they flaunted at every opportunity? He hoped she would not be able to tap in to the energies of the world as the Elves did, it would only be that much harder for her if she could. It was a talent best left behind. Only after his thoughts trailed to an end did Kane realize that one gleaming white eye had opened and was staring at him with a touch of curiosity. The Gryphon only stared back, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at the face that was peering out of the cloak at him. The moment he felt as if he needed to say something the eye closed once more, and she resumed the appearance of sleep. A strange creature indeed…




Chapter 2
Trade

Normally a faction will have a capital city, a place that is the most fortified and prosperous, especially in times of warfare. However, through the course of history capital cities have been prime targets for enemies. Destroy a capital and the victim usually lays down arms, because if your strongest point has been demolished how can you hope to defeat your enemy? So for this reason neither Hoss, Gryphon, Centaur, nor Human had named any one city their capital. Meetings were held at whatever place was the safest and the closest at that particular moment in time, Council was constantly moved to keep them safe, and communication was constant. While each of the four races was bonded together in a single alliance there was a place for each where the general concentration of one species was higher than the other. In other words, most of each kind stuck relatively close to their homeland. The Centaur were concentrated most in the plains and grasslands of the North, winters there were cold and long, but warmer seasons were plentiful and prosperous. To the West the Gryphon’s dominated, as plains died off in to great dusty canyons. The climate there was mild year round and it didn’t hurt to have a warm feather coat for chilly mornings and nights. Only the skilled Gryphon fliers could navigate the canyons without trouble, anyone else would be afraid of getting lost or caught in collapses of weak stone. Humans settled the East, their terrain as varied as their seasons, while plains, marshlands, and mountains colored their diverse landscape; most of it shared a single common feature… trees. Finally the Hoss could be found to the
South, the strange creatures of energy had set down on the wet swamps and marshlands near the great Unyielding Sea. There electrical storms came often, and heavy rains were frequent. Water seemed to roll off the Hoss in a similar fashion to the way a ducks feathers seemed to resist the liquid; but, the discomfort it caused other races assured that the region was dominated mostly by Hoss.

Far in the east the sun was high and the sky cloudless. Woven in to the dense trees of the Hallowed Grove were many pitched tents, each approximately the same size. While most were held up with normal supports, some had been strung up on nearby tree branches. The Hallowed Grove was actually an immense forest, it was said that the name was given when only a few trees grew here and nobody had yet bothered to rename it. Pieced within the many tall trunks of broad-leafed trees were horses tied to branches, small fires cooking food, children chattering and playing, caravans parked and people resting. Around the perimeter of all these things was a line of soldiers, many resting against solid trunks as they gazed off in to the maze before them, alert for any sign of danger. This was the city Arsenal. Of course it didn’t look like a city, no high walls, no permanent buildings. But of course that was the whole point of it. Arsenal was a nomad city, moving from place to place. Most everyone in it knew how to hold their own in the heat of battle or at least had sense enough to take cover or run away. Most of the organized fighters were actually remnants of other platoons and patrols that had run in to trouble and had been cut down to size. Arsenal, it was often joked, was the moving city of leftovers. It was also one of the safest places to be and the most developed of its mobile city brethren. A large space was set aside for practices, trees used as targets and imaginary enemies. This space was far off to the side of the ‘city’ so no unsuspecting person could get accidentally gored by an arrow if they walked by. For it seemed that a stray person was more likely to get hit by accident than for a tree to get hit on purpose—at least by one particular bowman, or rather bow-woman. A shaft clipped the side of a tree, sending fragments of bark flying as it whizzed in to the distance.
“Hey! You almost hit it that time Saren! I saw some wood go flying. How many arrows is that now?” the jovial tone came from a young human. He wore light linen clothing, his dark hair was cropped short and a strip of cloth was tied haphazardly around his forehead, damp with sweat. A broadsword was planted in to the grass and dirt ground, his gloved hands resting lightly on the pommel and hilt. His appearance suggested that he had recently left his teens, but his tone said his personality was lagging a few years behind.
“Quiet yourself Marcus, she’s trying to concentrate. Just hold and aim for a little while longer Saren, you’ve almost got it,” instructed another. This man had a short stubble on his chin and long brown hair pulled back in to a ponytail. His eyes, like Marcus’s were deep gray and held quite a bit more wisdom and maturity in their depths. He leaned against a tree of his own, a quiver full of arrows slung across his back and a longbow resting against his shoulder. His clothing was also of simple brown linen, pants tucked halfheartedly in to leather boots.
“Of course it doesn’t really matter if you miss, we can always pluck the feathers from your hair to make new arrows,” Marcus continued with a grin.
“Son! Shut your mouth and keep it closed! You’re no better shot than she is,” the father reprimanded sharply. Nearly nineteen years old now, Saren stood tall and with a slim yet sturdy frame. Her hair was tied back not in the loose hold that her instructors was, but in a tight binding that kept any stray piece from falling in to her face. She wore a vest of thick brown cloth and a white shirt beneath it; light trousers were tucked in to travel worn moccasins that reached up to her ankles. A short-ranged bow was held tightly in her left hand while she reached in to the quiver on her back with her right. A slight blush had run up the back of her neck, hopefully unnoticed by the two watching her. As she took up her stance and drew the bowstring back her arms trembled. She fought for a few moments against the tension that wanted to snap the shaft forward. Suddenly her hands slipped just a fraction and with a hiss the arrow was gone from the bow. With a frustrated scowl Saren let her arms drop to her sides and narrowed her gleaming eyes at the various shafts that she had buried in to the ground in the distance.
“Too bad you didn’t get the eyes of a Gryphon, some of them a part hawk ri…” Marcus didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. In a blur of motion Saren had snatched an arrow from her quiver and fired it at the man. The tip of the arrow passed within an inch of his ear and buried itself in a tree behind him.
“I guess it’s good I didn’t get those eyes, otherwise there’d be a shaft in your forehead,” Saren hissed, knuckles white as she squeezed her fist around the bow. She turned to the older bowman, who chuckled and offered her a smile,
“We can be done for today Saren. Why don’t you go spar with Marcus?” Saren shrugged off the quiver, walking over to her mentor and handing the quiver and bow over.
“Marksmanship isn’t the trade for me,” she announced resentfully. “I can’t hold a bow steady long enough to aim.” The Marksman raised a brow,
“You seemed to do well enough shooting around my son,” he pointed out. Saren had turned to walk toward Marcus and glanced over her shoulder, pausing to reply.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about Adam… I missed.” She turned back to Marcus who stuck his tongue out at her as she approached. Saren punched him lightly on the shoulder and then walked toward a rack of weapons.
“Ow,” he called to her back, rubbing his shoulder before following, heaving his sword in tow. Saren scoffed,
“Toughen up I barely hit you,” she said, browsing over the various blades on the rack left out for practice. Mostly swords, with a couple of daggers, many of the weapons were already in the hands of other warriors who faced off against each other. The edges were blunt specifically for practice. With enough force they could still break bones, but with normal spars bruises were the only injuries received.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked brightly, seeming not the least bit unnerved by the arrow that had nearly planted itself between his eyes.
“Honestly? I don’t want to practice at all. You know, you’d think that I’d be gifted at everything. I’m the supposed ‘vassal of all bloods’ right? Why can’t I be special and gifted in everything like the heroes in stories? I can’t hit a thing with an arrow, you know as well as I that I fumble with any blade. A spear is totally out of the question, I trained with them for weeks with the Centaurs and I’m little better with them now than when I started off! I have trouble keeping a horse under control when it’s jittery for God’s sake!” Marcus placed at hand on Saren’s shoulder,
“Woah! Calm down there. Don’t be like that Saren, you’re not like the people in those silly stories because this is life. In real life most people have to work hard at things to get good at them. My dad…”
“Used to be a worse shot than me. I know Marcus, he’s told me a hundred times. It wouldn’t feel as bad if I hadn’t been trying to find something I’m good at for years. Years!” she repeated, putting emphasis on the word with a defeated sigh.
“We won’t spar today then,” Marcus said, placing his sword on the rack. “As far as I can tell you can walk like an expert, let’s go for a walk. Rogue should be back in Arsenal by now, we can go fetch him and take a stroll.”
“Walk, Marcus everyone can walk. And they’ll probably send Rogue back out the second he brings the most recent message,” Saren replied, but she didn’t stop Marcus from setting down his weapon and didn’t protest when he steered her away with his one hand on her shoulder.
“He’ll have a few hours, maybe more if we can catch him before they send him out again. There’s more than one Gryphon in Arsenal Saren, they can afford to be without him for a little while. And as for your exceptional walking abilities Saren, I’ve never ever seen you trip or stumble. And you run like a gazelle, can’t you keep up with a Centaur or something?” Saren shrugged Marcus’s hand off of her shoulder and shook her hand.
“That would be running faster than a horse Marcus, and since Centaurs are faster than horses it’s not likely I’d be able to keep up with them would it?”
“Guess not,” Marcus said brightly as they walked deeper in to the midst of the tents and trees. “Rogue!” he called suddenly, before Saren could say anything more. Immediately her sharp chin was tilted toward the sky, searching for their small Gryphon friend. Keen golden eyes turned as their owner’s name was called, and the beast upon the air banked sharply to turn toward Saren and Marcus. His plumage was of black, bronze, and brown and the fur on the feline half of his body closely resembled something of a cougar. With both the tail and tail-feathers of a cat and bird Rogue was quite an odd spectacle but a very skilled flier even by Gryphon standards.
“Morning groundlings!” Rogue greeted playfully, landing briskly on Saren’s shoulder. He was little more than three feet tall, but his wingspan was almost more than twice his length.
“Care to join us on a walk?” Marcus asked, “We were just heading to the Perch to find you, but now… why don’t we go find something to eat?” Saren scratched the feathers on Rogue’s neck as he rearranged his wings. The Gryphon chirped contentedly and looked down at Saren, his silence indicating for her to chose what they would do.
“Didn’t you have a second helping last night Marcus? Surely you’re not hungry again?” Saren teased, her friends eyebrows raised,
“You trying to hint at something Saren? Be careful… I’m twice your size,” he said. It was true, Marcus loomed a head or two over Saren when he drew himself up to his full height. She studied him for a moment and clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth.
“I reckon if I kicked you in the shins hard enough you’d go down,” she said thoughtfully. Marcus skipped back a few paces,
“No need to get tetchy!” he said quickly but with a grin on his face. Rogue wrapped a wing around Saren’s head in a sort of hug,
“Don’t worry Saren, it’d be two against one either way. But I already ate, caught a mouse when I knew I was near Arsenal. I think we have a few new arrivals though Saren, I saw a caravan allowed to enter and set up camp near the other side of the city. They might be traders,” he said hopefully. Marcus clapped Saren on the shoulder without Rogue on it,
“We can stop by our tents and grab our coin, just in case they have something nice,” he said. Without waiting for confirmation he started to jog in the direction of his tent.
“Either hang on or take flight Rogue,” Saren warned as she took a few steps after her friend. As she began to jog the Gryphon took flight,
“He turned left two tents up,” Rogue called, his soft wing beats keeping him aloft with ease. Since Marcus seemed too impatient to wait for Saren to catch up Rogue frequently called directions down to her. When the two had caught up Marcus was waiting with a small leather pouch in his hand and had his arms crossed. He smiled, motioned for Saren to go and with a crude bow said,
“After you.” While the urge to sprint ahead and leave Marcus in the dust was overwhelming Saren managed to restrain herself to a brisk walk. Rogue fluttered through the air above and around them; every now and then he flipped or did an elegant roll as the two walked. The tent Saren shared with several others was half held up by ropes tied to branches and sticks. Ducking under the flap Saren hopped over sleeping mats, greeted a few friends who were in the tent, and then crouched as she reached her pack in the far corner. Her probing fingers quickly found the coin purse and tugged it out. She wrapped the short cord it was on around her wrist and then skipped back outside. Marcus turned to look at her as she exited the tent and then gazed back up at Rogue. The Gryphon had skillfully woven through the many intertwining branches and was scanning around the city. Lucky for them they had pitched their tents relatively close to one another, both were near the practice range; however, Arsenal was a city after all. It was approximately the size, of a small town or maybe two put together. With double the population since many tents could fit four or five people in them. The two waited in silence until Rogue descended,
“By the looks of it they are traders, there’s three caravans total now. The other two must have just come in. Goods are being set out right now, we should hurry! It’s just straight that way,” Rogue jabbed his head down a row of tents, “Follow me!” Flying along about five feet in the air in front of them Rogue led the way through the maze of tents. It wasn’t hard to navigate, news had a way of traveling fast through Arsenal and many people had begun to make their way to the traders as well.

It didn’t take too long for them to reach the new arrivals. The three caravans had set themselves up in a rough semicircle, already tables had been put out and shining wares were being displayed. The caravan on the far right of the semicircle had all manner of unusual artifacts splayed out on its table. The one in the middle had weapons on display, no doubt scavenged from the many battlefields across the lands. The last caravan on the left had yet to be fully set up, a fire was being started and dry foods were being set out. The occupants of the caravans were all humans, and all had set up their displays with spectacular speed.
“How do you suppose they set up so fast?” Saren asked, turning to look at where Marcus had been standing. Her friend had already migrated over to the food caravan, and as she scanned the air she found that Rogue was hovering over a table with various shiny objects set out. Rolling her eyes Saren took up post at the weapon caravan, shouldering through the people who were browsing as well. Axes, swords, daggers, spears, halberds, all of them shined as if they were brand new. Everyone in Arsenal knew better than that though, each of those weapons had had a previous owner, maybe more than one. Saren gazed over them with a detached appearance, she wasn’t really skilled with any of them and so had no interest in buying. Her eyes lingered on a few swords Marcus might be interested in but dismissed them, he hated using reused weapons.
“None of our inventory pleases you Silvergaze?” Saren jumped, two things startling her. The first was the name Silvergaze, while all Hoss had bright white eyes it was the name used by the Hoss who did not personally know her. Second was the voice that used the name, Hoss normally didn’t venture this far in to Human lands, and yet the static tones were unmistakable. Saren turned to meet the white-hot gaze that seared in to her own,
“No, they all look… lovely,” she hesitated for a fraction, wondering for a split second whether ‘lovely’ was the right word to use when describing something used to kill. Soft rolling thunder greeted her words, the Hoss beckoned her toward the far end of the table. He wore the normal metal pauldrons that most of his kind did, overlapping metal plates that connected with one another over where his collarbone would have been. This particular set was plain silver metal, without the usual designs and decoration. Similar bracers were wrapped around his wrists. A tattered gray cloak spilled down his back, billowing in the slight breeze that all Hoss seemed to create. The hood of the cloak was left down. Saren edged out of the crowd toward the table’s edge, allowing other warriors of Arsenal have their look at the display.
“Lovely, but not suited to you. Wait here Silvergaze, I have something that might interest you,” the Hoss retreated in to the caravan and reemerged a few seconds later carrying a small burlap sack. With no space left on the table for them to deal the Hoss took a seat on the ground and nodded Saren over. She moved closer to him, eyeing the bag he held with slight suspicion. She didn’t sit down until he pulled the items out of the bag. There were several things, soft beige gloves made out of thin cloth, followed by chainmail gloves. Next came leather bracers and then plate bracers that seemed to fit over them. Intrigued, Saren drew closer and knelt on the ground near the Hoss. “Look them over Silvergaze…” he encouraged. Saren set her coin purse on the ground and then instinctively reached for the light gloves first, slipping them over her fingers. They were a little big, but not uncomfortably so. Next she clapped on the leather bracers, both of these things appeared quite ordinary, except the bracers seemed a little more flimsy than they should have been. Next she picked up the plate that she assumed would fit over the bracers. Now though she saw what was special about them. Held about an inch from the side of the metal was a smooth gleaming blade. The blade curved where her elbow would be and stopped abruptly before her wrist, carefully crafted so it would be difficult to hurt yourself with them. Consumed by the unusual weapon, Saren pulled them on, finding that they fit loosely. Next she picked up the gloves and examined them. Along the side with her little finger ran a line over overlapping plates, each one with a sharp tip. Upon each knuckle was a metal spike, a gruesome weapon, but Saren couldn’t help but think it would be effective. She pulled on the chainmail gloves, finding that they latched on to the plates on her forearms. She moved her hands, finding the entire rig surprisingly flexible. She turned her right arm over so her palm was face up and traced the bottom of her arm.
“A blade should be here,” she speculated softly, “The ones on the side would be harder to kill with. But a blade here…” Saren flipped her hand over and thrust her palm forward in to the air, “Into a throat would be lethal.” A smile split across her face and she looked back up at the Hoss. He was watching her carefully, head tilted slightly to the side. “How much for them?” she asked, unclipping the gloves and slipping them off.
“Nothing for you Silvergaze,” The Hoss said. Saren looked sharply at the Hoss,
“It would be wrong to not pay you,” she said, setting down the top layer of the bracers and reaching for her pouch. An ethereal hand gripped her wrist, stopping Saren before she could reach the pouch.
“You will pay me with the blood of the Elves. And the lives you save in battle, take them Silvergaze, I won’t allow you to give me any coin.” Saren scowled, most traders she came up against there difficult like this, insisting that she not pay. Saren was determined not to become a spoiled dandy who took what she pleased without so much as a thankyou. While Humans and Centaur could be worn down eventually Hoss traders were notoriously stubborn. Not in the mood for a battle Saren gritted her teeth and nodded her thanks. The Hoss replaced the objects in the bag and then handed it over to Saren who turned quickly as her name was called.
“Saren! Come here I want to show you something!” It was Rogue. Saren fought through the growing crowd to her friend who landed on her shoulder and clung there in the midst of all of the jostling people.
“What is it?” she inquired, looking over the oddities that were laid out.
“Something shiny,” Rogue said sheepishly, nodding his head at the table.
“Rogue it’s all shiny,” Saren huffed, “Which…?” her sentence died as she heard her name yet again.
“Saren! Come here!” Her fist clenched around the bag. She turned sharply on her heel, shaking Rogue in to flight,
“Marcus I don’t want to look at food!” he called back.
“Not food! A message from Rowan! Somebody is here to meet you!” Saren scanned the crowd for Marcus, when she finally found his form his eyes seemed to hold as much confusion as hers did. She dodged through the mass of people.
“Where?” she asked, since it was evident Marcus didn’t know ‘who’.
“Battle Tent,” he said, a parchment was crumpled in his hand. Ink was bleeding through it, the message was fresh, “A Gryphon just gave it to me,” he explained, “Come on.” The items in her hand went unnoticed. Rogue gave a final longing look at the trader’s stand and then plunged after his friends as they started to jog toward the Battle Tent.